


all that remained in the ashes

by trippingtozier



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, I promise there's a happy ending, OKAY YALL HEAR ME OUT, Past Drug Use, i genuinely think william shakespeare inhabited my body while i wrote this, if that makes anything better?, or rly bad, theoretically this could be either really good..., whatever i'm going to get twizzlers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trippingtozier/pseuds/trippingtozier
Summary: You’ve known Spencer Reid a long time now. Like most good things in your life, it’s because of Penelope Garcia.You became friends with Spencer almost on sight. He was the calm after the storm, the gentle force reminding you to take a step back and breathe.It’s a little different, now that your fame is rapidly increasing.It’s a little different, now that you’re sleeping with him.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	1. heart & mind at battle

After a long internal debate, you decide to take a much needed mental health break from social media, and therefore you do not immediately know when the news surfaces. 

  
It’s a Thursday morning, late June. You can’t pinpoint the exact date or time without checking your phone but that doesn’t matter to you. The sun is high in the sky and the day is young.

  
Your latest project is in post-production, finally. Therefore you have plenty of time to waste away until you’re due back on set in August for re-shoots. Seven whole weeks to do absolutely nothing - no obligations, no pre-scheduled appointments. Zip, zilch, nada. It’s a well deserved vacation - one you’re happy to take. 

  
You’re baking because you rarely have time to practice recipes when you’re working on a project. Besides, the small kitchen you’re used to working with in your hotel rooms wouldn’t be big enough to make much of anything. 

  
Out of the hundreds of ideas you have saved on Pinterest, you settle on a cookie-crumble cheesecake. Complicated enough to keep you busy. Sweet enough to pique Spencer’s interest.

  
It’s nice to lose yourself in the kitchen - choosing to focus on measuring and mixing instead of thoughts and emotions. You hum softly as you bustle around, making sure the graham cracker crust doesn’t crack before gently lowering the pan into the oven. 

  
“Alexa,” you call, stretching your arms above your head. “Set a timer for one hour.”

  
After making sure the robot follows your instructions, you decide to take a magazine to your porch while you wait. The weather is nice. A lot nicer than the weather you’re forced into in Los Angeles. Here, the heat isn’t sticky and suffocating. You’re more than happy to stretch your bare legs out into the Virginia sunshine. 

  
That’s not to say it isn’t hot. It’s probably too hot to be wearing long-sleeves, but you can’t be bothered to change. You haven’t showered yet, and you grabbed the first shirt off the top of your laundry pile to reduce dirtying up more clothes. Unsurprisingly, the shirt belongs to Spencer. He must have left it before dropping everything and heading off to wherever his job required him to be. He knows by now that you’ll make sure whatever he leaves behind is clean and folded by the time he gets back.

  
Spencer Reid is a boy genius with three doctorates, working as a profiler for the BAU. When he’s not with you, he’s off ‘fighting bad guys like Batman’ as you like to put it. He’d left for his most recent case yesterday morning. You only know this because of the note he’d left on the dining room table. In his messy chicken-scrawl it reads:

  
 _Hotch called. Be back soon, I hope._  
 _Make sure you eat more than poptarts._

  
You’ve known Spencer Reid a long time now. Like most good things in your life, it’s because of Penny.

  
You met Penelope Garcia under bad circumstances after she’d hacked into your email to get the script for one of the first movies you ever filmed. After the initial shock and anger from being violated, you decided to take her up on her offer of free drinks as an apology. She was - and continues to be - a firecracker of a woman. For every bit of bad she’s seen, she remains a colorful angel in high heels, all chunky glasses and bright lipstick and childlike awe. 

  
She introduced you to the team almost right away, claiming that they needed to meet the girl who was starring in the movie she hadn’t shut up about. You agreed to attend a dinner party, only after she promised none of them would profile you. 

  
The large house she'd brought you to was surrounded by well trimmed shrubs and fancy cars, owned by David Rossi. He was kind to you right off the bat, welcoming you in and taking your jacket. He'd offered you wine and assured you that everyone else would be very pleased to meet you. “Any friend of Garcia’s is a friend of ours,” he'd said, giving you enough courage to meet the rest of the team. 

  
Aaron Hotchner stood with his arms crossed in a corner of the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed as he listened to the conversations flow around him. His dark eyes terrified you, but Penny dragged you over to him anyway. As he shook your hand, his brows unfurrowed and his shoulders relaxed ever-so slightly. He turned out to be a mostly-sweet and kind of sensitive middle-aged father, exactly the kind of guy you would have drooled over in college. You could tell he didn’t trust you right away, but you liked him in spite of that. 

  
Next you were introduced to Emily Prentiss and Jennifer ‘JJ’ Jareau. Emily was kind, maybe a little intense, but incredibly welcoming. She complimented your top and admitted that she intended to go see your upcoming film in theaters once it was released. JJ could best be described as a girl next-door: stunning, polite, mild-mannered. You felt almost nervous being around someone so naturally beautiful and kind - she reminded you of the girls you idolized in high school. 

  
“Who’s this sexy mama with you, baby girl?” Derek Morgan had asked, giving Penny a kiss on the cheek. You introduced yourself, trying not to blush in front of this macho-man. He was everything Penny had warned you about - smooth-talking, cool, handsome. You felt incredibly safe around him instantly, and his cheeky comments and good-natured teasing kept you from being tense around all these strangers. He helped ease you into the conversations that night, and for that you couldn’t be more grateful.   
Morgan introduced you to his ‘Pretty Boy’, and Pretty Boy... was not what you expected in any way, shape, or form. 

  
Spencer Reid was a huge shock to the system. It was like all your life you’d been living in clouds, and the second Spencer popped up the sun finally began to shine. He was quiet and horribly awkward - bad at social cues, easily becoming flustered around you, never knowing when to stop rambling. He was stylish in a grandfatherly way, with his curls being perpetually messy, absolutely begging to be combed through or graced with some form of leave-in conditioner. He wore mismatched socks and laughed at his own jokes when no one else would. He liked to spout off facts that nobody really cared about and had the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen.

  
No one made you feel the way Spencer did. 

  
You absolutely adored him.

  
You became friends with Spencer almost on sight. Since you'd met, most of your time in Virginia involved him in some way. Even when you were away in Los Angeles you’d find time to have virtual dinners with him. He was the calm after the storm, the gentle force reminding you to take a step back and breathe. 

  
It’s a little different, now that your fame is rapidly increasing. 

  
It’s a little different, now that you’re sleeping with him. 

  
To be fair, it’s a lot different now that you’re sleeping together, but it’s been happening for so long... 

  
No one knows, you've made sure of that. You both know the consequences of what could happen if your ‘boy toy’ gets any sort of publicity. It wouldn’t end well for either of you. 

  
So, when you see that Penny’s calling you on that sunny Thursday morning in June, you don’t think anything of it. You put your magazine down and answer her call. 

  
The last thing you expect her to say is, _“You’ve been sleeping with Spencer Reid?”_


	2. 2 imperfect bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise after this chapter things won't be as vague..  
> development babeyyyy

You know for certain that if your heart actually stopped you’d be dead. Somehow it still feels like your heart has completely given up on beating and is instead laying dormant in your chest as a faint whooshing sound echoes in your ears. 

You can hear Penny calling your name on the phone, but everything sounds like your head is stuck underwater. She’s asking if you’re still there, but you just can’t figure out what you want to say. You don’t know where to start. You have so many questions. 

_You’ve been sleeping with Spencer Reid?_

Fuck. Those are the last words you ever wanted to hear any of your friends say. 

After a beat of silence, you settle on asking, “Did he tell you?” 

You could’ve tried to deny it, but what would be the point. It was bound to happen one way or another, even if you tried to push that fact aside. The guilt of keeping it from one of your best friends would eat you up inside eventually. 

“No.” Penny doesn’t sound like herself. She sounds upset, although not mad or perplexed in the way you’d expected. “There’s a... When’s the last time you checked Reddit?”

“I don’t know. 2013, maybe. Why?”

“Okay,” she says slowly, sucking a breath in through her teeth. “What about Twitter?”

“I don’t know, Penny. Last week?”

“Oh no.” Something about Penny’s tone makes you start sweating. You feel your stomach flip. “Maybe you should... You should check Twitter. It’s just. They’re all over.”

Your breathing is coming out in short, wheezy bursts. You feel lightheaded. “Penny, what’s all over Twitter?”

“You. Reid. You’re, uh. Both of you,” you can tell she’s choosing her words very carefully, until she gives up and decides to burst. “Both of your naked bodies are plastered all over Twitter in all their naked glory for the public to view.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments, just letting her words sink in. Your heart sinks to your stomach, leaving you nauseous.

You feel like this has to be a joke, but it’s not. You know it’s not. 

“I’m gonna have to call you back,” you say, and hang up without waiting for her response. 

You don’t know what to do first. Your phone sits heavily in your hand, unassuming and brightly lit. Your home screen flashes up at you - an old picture of Spencer from last summer when you’d forced him to do face masks and he’d agreed to let you braid his hair. Things were so simple then. No fuss, no drama, no impending doom. 

In this moment, you would give up everything to go back.

With shaky fingers, you find the Twitter app and log in. 

Christ. 

Over 50k mentions in the past five hours. 

Well, fuck it. There’s no avoiding it now.

You hit the search bar, and swipe to trending, and - 

Yep. 

There it is. 

Number 1. Your name in bold font. Nudes. 

Thousands of posts all claiming to have the same pictures. You don’t need to click on them. You know exactly what they are. You’d know them anywhere. 

You scroll through the tweets and subtweets. Some people are disgusted, some people are shocked, some people are just grateful to have new material for their spankbank. 

Fuck.

You wonder how much you’d have to pay Penny to make this all disappear. 

Maybe she could make you disappear while she was at it. 


	3. point the gun at me

You’re uncertain of who to hold accountable for starting this whole thing. You’d like to believe it was an honest tie between the two of you.

You justified it by telling yourself sex releases endorphins, and that it was safer than having constant one-night stands. Besides, Spencer needed something - someone - to distract him from the horrors his job produced every day. 

At first it was just a one-night stand type of thing - and that’s how you intended to keep it, you swear. It was just something that happened, and after the fact, neither of you really wanted to address the elephant in the room... But that was before you started showing up at Spencer’s door more and more frequently, seeking solace in his gentle touches. 

  
  


Although you consistently try to avoid it, you both know by now that one of you is bound to end up in the other’s bed by the end of a hangout. It’s simply become the new normal. 

You can’t remember which one of you brought the idea of pictures up first. In all honesty, it was probably you, but you’d deny it until your dying breath. 

It would be an understatement to say that Spencer didn’t like sexting. He didn’t like texting in general, but sexting was just too far out of his comfort zone. You’d tried phone sex, but there are only so many ways to make it fun before it just becomes boring - and with you being away for months at a time for filming, it became boring fast. 

_ I wanna fuck you.  _ Boring.

_ You up?  _ Boring. 

_ I miss the way you taste.  _ Less boring, especially when Spencer started explicitly describing the sounds you made when his tongue was in you, but still... 

When you were away in LA, it was beyond painful. No Spencer, no sex, hardly any texts because you were both working opposite schedules and would end up too exhausted at the end of the day to stay awake during a call for more than ten minutes. 

Sometimes you’d send him a selfie from set and text  _ Wish you were here.  _ Sometimes the ache of missing him was enough that you’d call him at four in the morning after a long night of crying and leave him a tearful voicemail to wake up to.

You’d often considered leaving the shroud of loneliness and finding the nearest bar to fuck a nameless-nobody, but the idea of being with someone who wasn’t Spencer made you uneasy. So much so, that you’d choose to grudgingly turn over in bed and count down the days until you were on a plane to Virginia instead. 

Whenever one of you finally came home, you knew by now to set aside two or three days. You always spent them holed up in Spencer’s arms, making up for lost time.

Although you both enjoyed it - no doubt about that - it became exhausting quickly. This constant, repetitive routine of hello, goodbye, hello, sex, sex, sex. So, the pictures had been the solution. 

Well, not really a solution, more like a compromise. 

In hindsight, you probably should’ve been more careful. You’d been hacked before, and Penny had offered to help you safe-guard your accounts as reparation, but you’d denied, not quite trusting her yet. You regret not taking her up on that offer later. 

You also quite frequently forgot that you were famous, and that incidences like these were the end-all and be-all of careers like yours. Honestly, you would forget you were famous completely if fans didn’t constantly approach you with that nervous gleam in their eyes and a phone in their hand, asking for pictures. Those pictures were innocent and cute, a reminder that you were human, too. It never occurred to you just how dangerous the  _ other _ pictures were. 

Your manager, Anastasia Barnaby, had warned you of scandals like this many times before. She was well versed in the dangerous world of media, and had seen a fair amount of leaked sex-tapes in her day.

Anastasia can best be described as a dictator, a stereotypical model of a girl-boss, a queen, trapped in the body of 5’2” public relations expert. She reeks of riches and expects nothing but the best from any of her clients. 

She knows everything about you. Even the things you wish she didn’t. Birthday? Check. Mother’s maiden name? Check. Kindergarten through senior year records? Check. She knows about every contact in your phone, every relationship, every past-time. And don’t even try to lie to her about any of it - she’ll see through you right away. In another life, you think she might’ve been a BAU agent, or maybe an actual lie detector machine. 

She knows about Spencer, of course, but doesn’t know what he is to you. Hell, you don’t even know what Spencer is to you, so you don’t say anything out of the ordinary about him.

At the end of every one of your meetings, she asks you, ‘Is there anything else I need to know about?’

And although you know she doesn’t believe you, you always respond, ‘Nope.’

You often think of the pictures, but never utter a word. 


	4. cannot undo what's already been done

The reporters start showing up to your apartment around noon, so by one you’re trying to push through the crowd, sunglasses on and face shielded by a hand, struggling to avoid the questions they shout at you. They’re persistent, you’ll give them that, not stopping until you’re peeling out of your parking spot and speeding towards Quantico. 

You call Penny from your car, taking a moment to collect yourself as the line rings. 

“My love! Are you okay?” It’s the first thing she asks when she picks up. You can hear the concern radiating from her voice. 

“No,” you answer, truthfully. “Can you sneak me in?”

You shouldn’t. You _know_ you shouldn’t. You know how much trouble she could get in if anyone were to find out, but she’d once told you if there were ever an emergency, you could hide out at headquarters with her until the situation became less dire. 

This has to be considered an emergency, right?

“That’s like asking if cows moo. Of course I can.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Pen. You’re the best.”

“Of course I am, sugarplum. No need to state the obvious.”

She hangs up, and you spend the rest of the drive in silence, calculating your next move. 

You’re constantly checking behind yourself, making sure no one’s following you. The last thing you need is anyone tracking you as you flee the scene of the crime. 

You barely breathe until you’re safely holed away in Penny’s batcave. You’re grateful her mini-fridge is stocked with diet-coke. She watches as you guzzle the first can, opening a second and handing it off to you once you chuck the first one in her sparkly recycle bin. You sip more slowly at the second, easing the heavy feeling in your chest away with caffeine. 

“I’m sorry,” Penny says eventually, which is not at all what you thought she would say. 

You blink at her. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” she squirms under your gaze. “I feel guilty for looking at the pictures!”

You laugh, even though the situation is devoid of humor. “Shit, Pen. I’m sorry you had to see them.”

You sit in silence for a few minutes, letting the quiet hum from her monitors lull you into an almost-meditative state. 

“No one was supposed to see them,” you mutter quietly, like she doesn’t already know that. 

You stare down at your hands, then finish your second round of diet-coke in one go and set the can down on her desk with a heavy _clink._ You feel suffocated and angry. Also a little sad, but you’re not quite sure where that emotion is coming from. 

This is karma. This is what you get for fucking one of your closest friends and thinking no one would ever find out. 

“Does he know?” You ask.

Penny opens her mouth, then closes it. She swivels around in her chair, refusing to meet your eyes. 

“Yes.”

Her simple answer makes you feel tired, all of a sudden. Very, very tired. You want to crawl into your bed and sleep for an hour. Or maybe a week. Or maybe forever. 

Penny lets you sit there, wallowing in your own misery, for a while. She goes about, doing her work. You watch her from the corner of your eye. She’s a blonde haired, pink, sparkly blur as she whizzes around, typing things into one computer and then another. 

“Can you get rid of everything?” You ask.

She doesn’t even have to ask what you mean.

“To an extent, absolutely, but I’m sure there are other tech geniuses out there who would do everything in their power to undo my hard work, my love.”

“Okay.”

“Just say the word, and I’ll do what I can.”

“Okay.”

Your phone rings. You pull it from your back pocket and cringe at the caller ID. 

Anastasia Barnaby. 

You knew it was coming. You knew there was nothing you could do to avoid this, but still debate sending her to voicemail. 

“Are you gonna get that?”

You sigh deeply, and answer on auto-pilot. “Hello. What’s up?”

Anastasia is all business, of course, glossing over your question completely because you both know you’re beyond a simple ‘what’s up?’. “I assume you’ve heard the news. No doubt you’ve seen it, at least.”

“Are you referring to my naked body being posted on every website imaginable or did something else equally as horrible happen in the time since then?”

Again, Anastasia glosses over your question. She goes on as if you’d never spoken. “Come to my office. We need to speak face to face. Bring the male from those images.”

“Yeah, well, I would if Spencer was here.”

“It was Spencer?” Anastasia asks, finally addressing something that’s come out of your mouth. “Doctor Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.”

“When will Doctor Reid be making another appearance?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, when he does, I expect to see you both.” And that’s it. She hangs up. 

You sigh again, lowering the phone. You look at Penny. “My manager wants to see me and Spence.”

“That can’t be a good sign,” is all she says,

You nod in agreement, and let your head fall back, wishing this all away. 

_Just say the word._


	5. seek a temporary shelter

You don’t speak to Spencer until you absolutely have to. 

Not one text message is sent between the two of you other than a ‘ _ Hey, I know you’re probably pissed at me, but like, my manager wants to see us, so let me know when you’re back from your case. K, thanks.’ _ . 

You’re clearly avoiding him, and from the ‘ _ read at 9:13 p.m. _ ’ your message receives, it appears he’s doing the same. 

You don’t see him until you absolutely have to pick him up for your meeting with Anastasia. 

He sits in the passenger seat, clutching his messenger bag. He avoids all eye contact, except for a polite smile when he first enters the car. The air is tense between you two. It leaves you feeling smothered and anxious. 

“Hello,” you say after a moment of deliberation, trying to break through the awkward silence.

Spencer turns to stare at you, eyes boring holes into your head as you focus on the road. 

“Hi.”

You tap your fingers on the steering wheel, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry, Spence.”

You hear him breathe deeply through his nose. “It’s not like you took them without my permission, and I’m sure you had no intention of letting them reach the public eye. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, I’m sorry nonetheless.” 

And just like that, you’re both done speaking. You continue the ride in silence, counting down the minutes until you’re forced to face Anastasia.

Her office building is state-of-the-art, of course. Spacious and well-lit, sixteen floors. Everything top of the line - she insists on only having the best of the best. 

Her personal office is large, almost as big as your bedroom. Her desk is a massive thing, glass-topped and permanently organized. Every piece of paperwork is put away with razor-sharp precision. Nothing is ever out of place. Except, maybe, for you. 

She looks put-together, as usual. Her white satin shirt fits perfectly, with a periwinkle jacket slung over her shoulders and a perfectly pressed pencil-skirt to match. Her signature red lips are pressed together, but no less meticulous than usual. She has her legs crossed at the ankles, and her hands are steepled under her chin like a cartoon villain plotting their next move. You feel intimidated, more so than usual. 

There’s usually only one chair placed in front of her desk, but today a second has been pulled up for Spencer. You watch as he sits politely while you sprawl - legs spread almost obscenely, knee bobbing up and down, fast. You stare out the giant glass window, past Anastasia. This is too much for you to handle. You wish you’d thought to drink something before coming - something strong. 

“So,” Anastasia says, once she’s confident she’s given you all enough time to settle. It’s the first time anyone’s said a word since the car ride. “It appears someone made a whoopsies.”

“Fucking hell,” you spit, not really in the mood to be talked down to. Your knee accelerates in it’s up-and-down, up-and-down motion. “Can you talk to us like we’re adults and not fucking five year olds being scolded for shitting our pants?”

If she’s phased by your outburst, Anastasia doesn’t show it. Her professionalism is really bumming you out. 

“I apologize.” Her stony expression softens ever so slightly, and she removes her hands from under her chin. “I wasn’t trying to make this any worse. Just trying to clear the air.”

You know that. Of course you fucking know that. 

You suppose it  _ would  _ just be better to get it over with. 

“Spencer and I fucked,” you say to the window, too ashamed to make eye contact. “We fucked. We took some pictures. I took some pictures separately of myself. Someone leaked them. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Anastasia inhales slowly and sits back in her chair, rubbing her temples. “Was that the first time you both had... experienced intercourse together?”

Spencer shifts in his seat. You break your staring contest with the clouds to scoff at her question and reply, “No.”

She looks at you, unblinking. “The second time? The third?”

“No. To both.” You take a deep breath, and glance at Spencer. His tongue darts out to lick at the corner of his lips. “We’ve been fucking for about three years. As frequently as possible.”

Anastasia furrows her eyebrows. “All this time and you never told anyone?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s a pretty well-kept secret.”

“Not anymore.”

“In many ways it is  _ still _ a secret,” she says, glancing between the two of you. “As a federal agent, you’re insanely lucky your face can’t be traced back to any of the images.” Spencer nods in agreement, eyes shifting to you quickly before they look back down at his lap. Anastasia sighs, writing something down on the notepad in front of her. “I don’t suppose you have anything else to tell me? No secret love-children? No Vegas wedding?” 

“Nope,” you reply. “Just two friends getting each other off long-term.”

“In that case,” Anastasia says, shuffling a few papers around from the stack that sits in front of her. “We have a few options.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

“Number one, we wait for this to all blow over.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Spencer says. You have to agree with him on that.

“There’s no way this will just ‘blow over’.”

“Oh, my dear,” Anastasia says, shaking her head at you. “You overestimate how much people care about your sex life. It’ll be big news for a while, I admit, but it’ll die down. Eventually.”

“How long is ‘eventually’?”

“A few months. Maybe a year.”

A year. Who knows if either of you will even be alive in a year. 

“What’s the other option?” Spencer asks, his voice sounding faint. 

You don’t know why, or what compels you to do it, but you reach over and take his hand, squeezing your palms together. 

Anastasia watches this interaction, tapping a finger against her chin. 

“Option two, you could be in love.”

You stare at Anastasia blankly, feeling like you’re hearing things. “Excuse me? We’re not in love.”

“But you  _ could _ be,” she says, looking between your combined hands. “You’re a Golden Globe nominated actor, aren’t you?”

“You want me... to act like I’m in love with Spencer?”

“Think about it. No one has any sympathy for you right now. They all think you’re a reckless whore on a one way track to being dumped by every agency imaginable.” Her brutal honesty makes you wince. “But, I’m saying that could change if we make it out that these pictures were strictly private and someone dragged them out of the dust without your consent.”

“That’s exactly what happened though!”

“You’re right, but that’s not how the public sees it.” Anastasia keeps her voice careful and even, like a parent trying to keep their toddler from throwing a tantrum in the checkout line at a store. She looks between the two of you again, then nods, deciding upon something herself. “As of right now, you are now in a long-term, completely monogamous, utterly serious relationship with Doctor Spencer Reid. Anyone who’s seen your images together has violated your privacy.”

“But that’s true whether we’re dating or not!” 

Spencer squeezes your hand, a silent plea to stay calm. 

“Again, you’re right, but this is the easiest way to handle this. If you two are openly together, it’s an invasion of privacy. If not, it’s nothing more than hot gossip.”

Spencer’s thumb drags over your knuckles. “We don’t have to do this,” he says. “It’s up to you.”

You sigh. You should be the one comforting him - this isn’t his world, after all. 

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to think it through. You could let it happen, let it unfold. Take the criticism and consequences by yourself, and ensure that Spencer stays anonymous. Or, you could take the out he’s offering you and drag yourself up from the pit of despair. 

“How long would we have to do this?”

“A believable amount of time. A few months, at least.”

A few months. Ha. That would make this the longest relationship you’d ever been in. 

You turn to Spencer. “How do you feel about this?”

He shrugs. “If this will benefit you, I’ll do it.”

You bring your combined hands up, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you, Spence.”

He throws you a tight smile in response. 

“Alright,” you say. “We’re in.”

Anastasia claps her hands together and starts shuffling things around on her desk, pulling out a file and a fresh notepad. “We need to have a game plan, a few guidelines. Maybe discuss a contract.”

You don’t like the sound of that. You can tell Spencer doesn’t either from the tight grip he’s got on your hand. 

“Doctor Reid, I’ll need your supervisor’s name and number. We’ll have a few things to discuss separately.”

Shit. You know Hotch is going to look angrier than usual when he gets wind of this, if he hasn’t already. 

As Spencer prattles off about how to contact Hotch, you sink lower in your seat, wishing you could sink all the way down and have the floor swallow you whole. You’re able to space out for a few moments until Anastasia calls for your attention. 

“So,” she jots down another note as you come back to earth, and hums in approval to herself. “Have either of you had any partners since this whole... friends-with-benefits thing began?”

“No,” Spencer says up-front, shifting in his chair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to be intimate with someone else in five years two months and twenty-seven days.”

Of course he knows that right off the top of his head. Why doesn’t that surprise you?

“What about you?”

“I…” Well, what about you? “I haven’t slept with someone since that first night with Spencer. I mean, we fuck all the time. I didn’t really  _ need _ anyone else.”

“What about when you’re filming?” Spencer asks, like he doesn’t believe you. Ain’t that a slap in the face.

“Fuck no. Never. You’re more than enough for me.”

Spencer looks like maybe he wants to say something in response to that, but Anastasia cuts him off. “Okay. So. You’ve been dating for three years.”

“Three years,” you repeat. 

“You met through a mutual friend,” she continues. “Hold hands, be affectionate, kiss each other.”

“I don’t do ‘affectionate,’” you point out, dropping his hand suddenly, like it burns. “Neither does Spencer, really.”

“Yeah, well, you do now.” Anastasia settles back in her chair, looking the both of you over for a moment before throwing her arms open and smiling widely, obviously proud of herself. “Congratulations, you two, it’s a relationship!”


	6. the night has a thousand eyes

By the time you get home from your sentencing with Anastasia, it’s late afternoon, nearing night, and you’re bone-tired. You feel like you could sleep for days. Years. Centuries. You want nothing more than to crawl under the covers and have this all be a figment of the past by the time you wake up. 

Spencer offers to drive, letting you sleep on the ride back to your apartment with your face smooshed against the window. You hope the paps get a good photo. 

When you unlock your door, you turn around to give Spencer a ‘goodnight, go sleep this nightmare off’ hug, but he follows you in. It certainly isn’t expected, but you must admit that you appreciate the company.

“Do you want anything to drink?” You ask, trying to clear some of the tension as you shrug your jacket off and leave your shoes by the welcome mat.

“No, thank you,” Spencer replies, making his way past you to sit on the edge of your couch. 

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your tired eyes. “Do you mind if I go grab a shower?”

“No.”

“Okay.” It feels weird, like you’re a stranger in your own home. “You can just... make yourself at home. I think I have some of your clothes in the dryer. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

You retreat from the living room, seeking solace in the bathroom. You strip quickly, leaving your clothes in a pile on the floor, too tired to collect them now. 

You take long showers at the best of times, but this is probably excessive. A quick glance at your watch tells you you’ve been standing under the stream of water, unmoving, for twenty-two minutes. You wash your face, finally, then your hair and your body and then you just stand again, waiting for the water to run cold. When it eventually does, you wrap yourself in a towel and move to lean against the counter as you brush your teeth, feeling dead-on-your-feet. You really wish hibernation was normalized for humans. 

You exit the bathroom and slink to your room, dressing quickly, and then re-entering the living room. Spencer is sitting in the same spot as he was before, only now he appears to be reading. 

“I’m going to bed,” you announce. 

“Okay.”

Spencer marks his page, then closes the book, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. He stands, removing his sweater. 

“What are you doing?”

“Joining you in bed,” Spencer answers, slowly, like it should be obvious.

“You want to stay?”

You’re surprised, not only because this has been a lot on both of you, and you’re sure Spencer needs time to process it, but because you know that he prefers to sleep in his own bed on a work night. 

“Yes. I mean, I was planning on staying. Unless you don’t want me to?”

“No, no, of course I want you to, I just…”

Spencer toes his shoes off, leaving them next to yours and coming over to stand by you. “You just figured I’d be avoiding you like the plague after the meeting today?”

“Well, yeah.”

His mouth quirks. “We’re dating now, you know. Radio silence isn’t the best way to operate a relationship.”

Right.

He has a point.

You know it would look better if the paps catch him leaving your apartment tomorrow morning for work. And it would make Anastasia happy to see you following her instructions. 

Besides, you’re too tired to care. 


	7. a yearn for melancholy

Anastasia calls for a press conference Monday morning, but after Spencer is pulled away on a case she reschedules it for next Tuesday, giving you time to prepare by yourself. 

Spencer, for the most part, is handling this whole thing a lot better than you are. You sort of thought he’d be freaking out, but for the most part, it’s like nothing has changed. 

Well, that’s not true, he texts you more than he used to - always checking up to see if Anastasia had any updates for the ‘happy couple’. He also quizzes you daily:  _ What year did we meet? Where did we go on our first date? When did we make it official?  _ You don’t get a single one wrong.  _ Take that, boy genius.  _

It hits you, somewhere between your daily quizzes and early  _ good morning  _ texts that Spencer is your best friend. He tops Penny ever so slightly by knowing all of your favorite poetry by heart. Well, that particular revelation makes all of this feel different somehow. More personal.

When Spencer comes home from the case on Friday, you pick him up from Quantico, keeping your sunglasses on and your head low. 

While you’re waiting for him to retrieve his things, Hotch finds you, frowning deeper than usual. He stands beside you, arms crossed, letting you sweat nervously for a few moments before speaking.

“You’ve gotten yourselves into quite a mess,” he says.

You nod, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to take responsibility for it. Please don’t hold anything against Spencer.”

“I wish I could just blame you,” he admits. “That would make this a lot easier. But I know you both played a part.”

“Not really. We’re not into role-play.” You don’t know what compels you to say it, but you’re spitting it out before you can think better of it. 

If you knew any better, you’d swear Hotch coughed out a choked laugh before clearing his throat. “Be careful.”

“I will be.”

“I’m not talking about just you.”

“ _ We _ will be,” you correct yourself. 

After Hotch walks away from you, Emily takes his place, elbowing your arm with hers. 

“Long time, no see,” she greets. 

“Hey, Em.”

“So,” you can tell she doesn’t know where to start. She looks at you sympathetically. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know about the… things… but just, you know, keep in mind that I’m here if you need anything. We all are.”

“Thanks.” You’re grateful, you really are. “I guess we need to set up a girls night soon. Hopefully one that includes a lot of alcohol.”

“You betcha’. Just say the word and we’ll be there, provided you’re buying.”

You laugh. “Of course, I always do.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Spencer standing there with his bags, and know it’s time to depart. 

“Hey, we’re gonna get going,” you gesture over towards Spencer, taking a step in his direction. “But I’ll text you.”

“I’ll look forward to your message.”

After getting to the car, you can’t lie, it’s nice to finally be alone with Spencer again. You’d missed him. 

Missing him is sort of overwhelming. It exhausts you. Whenever you think too hard about it, your chest constricts, so you push the feelings to the back and lock them up in a vault. 

“Rough case?

Spencer sighs, resting his arm along the center console. “It was fine. Just a lot of running around.”

Side-eyeing him, you note how tired he looks. He always has dark circles, especially after cases, but these are worse than usual. So, you decide to take him home to his apartment. 

“What are we doing here?” He asks. 

“You need sleep, Spence. We both do.”

He nods in agreement. “Are you coming in?”

“No,” you shake your head. “If I come in, we won’t do much sleeping.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows quirk up in interest.

You flush and roll your eyes. “Not like that, Spence.”

Since this all began, you haven’t fucked once. You’ve both thought about it, but every time you get close to his mouth or his cock, you remember the pictures and your stomach turns. 

“Get some rest,” you urge as he grabs his bag from the backseat and clambers out of your car.

“You too.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

So, you go home. 

You spend your first hour regretting it. Your space is too quiet without Spencer. It’s unnerving not having him within arms reach so soon after getting him back. 

You think about taking a nap, but the bed is too big for one person and it smells like Spencer. That’s entirely too distracting. You think about running a few errands, but there are still a few reporters lurking around the apartment complex, and that’s the last thing you want to deal with more than you already have to. 

You end up on your phone, scrolling aimlessly through emails. There are a few scripts Anastasia has sent you to look over, but none of them peak your interest. 

Penny texts you, asking if you want to come over, but you kindly reject her offer, asking for a rain check. You know she’s probably worried about you, and also wanting to be caught up on the latest news, but you just want to wallow by yourself. Your mood is far too dejected to share with another person. 

You pour yourself a glass of wine and settle onto the couch, phone in one hand, remote in the other. Nothing good is on, but you don’t really care. You were just looking for background noise anyway. 

Your one glass of wine turns to two, and then another. And then one more. You know it’s a bad idea to get drunk, especially with your mood - you’ll only get weepy, and call Spencer. So, you stop at four, letting the gentle buzz radiate through your body, making you feel hazy and clouded over. You’re still scrolling through your phone, fucking around on Buzzfeed and then Facebook and then, only because you’re feeling brave with the alcohol coursing through your veins, Twitter. You click on the first tweet boasting to have your pictures:  _ nudes linked below → _ .

“Fuck it,” you say aloud to no one in particular, and you clink the link. 

At first, your screen goes black for a few seconds, and you note that you might have just given your phone a virus, but eventually the images load.

The first few are taken from Spencer’s view. You, laughing as one of his large hands palms your breast. You remember him telling a stupid joke about oxygen and magnesium before taking the picture. You can’t remember the punchline now, but it’s clear you were amused from the way your face is scrunched up. 

There’s a few of his hand thrusting into your heat - the resolution is grainy, but it’s clear that his fingers are coated in your release. 

The next few are awkward, incriminating shots of you posing lewdly in a mirror, legs spread. You can tell you’re trying your best to look sexy, but the stupid smile you always wear when you think of Spencer graces your features. In one of the pictures, you’re holding up a paper that reads “Case files: Spencer’s eyes only”. It’s all so stupid. 

You feel sort of sick. 

There’s some of you undressing, unbuttoning one of Spencer’s work shirts to reveal nothing but bare skin underneath. One of Spencer’s cock working you open. One of Spencer’s hands curled around your waist, big enough to splay across your ribcage. 

This is exhausting. You should stop looking.

You don’t.

It’s a good distraction to look at the mirror selfies you’d taken of the two of you. In one of them, you proudly display Spencer’s back, showing the long scratches you’d left behind in your wake of pleasure. 

God. Have people gotten off to these? 

You think you know the answer. Of course they have. 

The thought makes you nauseous, but not for the reason one might expect. You’re not worked up about them getting off to you, not at all. You’re worked up because the idea of someone else seeing Spencer’s bare body makes you feel almost predatory. He’s not theirs. He’s  _ yours _ . 

This was a bad idea. You knew it from the start. Those feelings are popping up again -  _ those _ feelings. 

They can’t. Not again. Not after you tried so hard to melt them down to nothing. 

_ Fuck _ . 


	8. we begin with honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Idk how good this is, I'm j too tired to proof it......... ignore errors ig 😳😳😳 or call me out in the comments

The press conference is at 8 AM, bright and early. 

You’ve never minded press conferences. You’re good at them, the answers usually come naturally to you. But you’ve never done one with anyone by your side - other than a miscellaneous co-star - and that makes you uncharacteristically nervous. Your palms start sweating the second you lock eyes with Spencer. It’s probably pretty gross and swampy, but he never lets go of your hand. Not once. 

You answer questions for almost a full hour and a half, carefully picking and choosing which ones to focus on.

_How serious is serious?_ We’ve discussed marriage. 

_Why did you take so long to come out with this?_ Our careers came first. We needed time and privacy to figure things out between us. 

_Why did you take those pictures in the first place?_ No fucking comment. None of the public’s fucking business. 

It’s exhausting, but Spencer’s holding onto your hand like his life depends on it, and that keeps you grounded enough to make it through without any stops or hesitation. Overall, things run smoothly. 

Twenty minutes after it ends, you get a text from Penny with the first headline. 

_BaeWatch: The FBI Agent & The Movie Star?!? _

The title alone makes you roll your eyes, but the relief that floods through you is immediate. They bought it, hook, line, and sinker. 

To celebrate, you take Spencer out to lunch. He picks a small diner, nothing fancy, and you hide away in a small corner booth. You take his hand across the tabletop, making a show of it, and discreetly hook your foot around his ankle. 

“Are you playing footsies with me?”

“Maybe so, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer hums contentedly, and stares down at the menu. 

“So,” he starts, pursing his lips, “that went well.”

You nod. “Yeah. It went a lot better than I expected, for sure.”

“Are you happy?”

His question takes you by surprise. You chew on your lip, thinking it over. 

_Are you happy?_ You don’t really know, honestly. You’re happy the press conference went well.

You’re happy that, out of everyone, it was Spencer by your side. You’re happy that he chose to stick by your side. But still... there’s a part of you that aches with misery. 

Three years. It’s been three years since you did anything with someone who wasn’t Spencer. All this time, and you’ve never gotten bored with him. Not once. Did he ever feel the pull that you felt? Was he just into you for the hookups? Had he ever wondered if it could be more? 

“Hey,” Spencer says, squeezing your palms together and calling you from your thoughts. You notice that the food has arrived in front of you, and you let go of his hand, delving into your fries. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

“Clearly,” he says, reaching for one of your fries. You slap his hand away playfully and he draws it back, pretending to be wounded. “What’s up?”

“I’ll give you three guesses, Doc.”

Spencer leans his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers under his chin, pretending to think deeply. “You’re thinking about how the average person will grow two meters of nose hair in their lifespan.”

You snort. “Ew, gross. No.”

“You’re thinking about letting me have the rest of your fries.”

“Never,” you say, but you push your plate in his direction anyway. 

He pops a fry in his mouth, then wipes his fingers with a napkin. “You’re thinking about us. About the rest of our lives.”

He knows you. Maybe too well. 

“Do you want to get married?” You ask, seemingly out of nowhere. Now it’s his turn to look bewildered and fall silent.

He furrows his brows, looking at you. “Are you proposing?”

“What? No! I meant like in the future. To someone. Eventually.”

Spencer picks up his napkin and starts fiddling with it. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Really?” You’re genuinely surprised. “I thought you’d have it all planned out.”

“Nothing I ever plan works out in the end,” Spencer sighs. “I guess I do want to get married. You know, someday. To someone.”

“I don’t want to get married,” you say, after a moment, even though he didn’t ask.

“Why not?”

_No one will ever make me feel the way you do. My mind will always go back to you. To us. To this mess._

“I don’t know. Don’t really need the tax break.”

He laughs. It’s nice to hear him laugh. “That’s not the only reason people get married, you know. 48.2% of marriages happen because of love.”

“Yeah, well. What the fuck would I know about that?”

The smile drops from Spencer’s face, and you immediately feel guilty for ruining the conversation. He reaches over, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “One day you’ll find it. Love, I mean.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him you think you’ve already found it. 

You doubt you ever will.


	9. the whole world fades

Things get weird during the next couple of days. Not bad, necessarily, just  _ weird _ . 

You start to get anxious about just how hard this is going to be to convince the media when it occurs to you that you and Spencer already act like a couple. All of your simple actions, the ones that happen when you think no one is watching, could be misconstrued as romantic gestures. When he’s around you, Spencer touches you near-constantly, and you often touch him right back without a single thought. 

On Wednesday you go out to dinner, and you - without realizing what you’re doing before it’s too late - reach across the table to brush a crumb from Spencer’s lip. On Thursday, you drag yourself out of bed and drop him off at work, kissing him on the cheek before he gets out of the car. Just now, on Friday night, you’re getting ready for a gathering at Rossi’s and you find yourself giggling as you straighten Spencer’s tie. You smooth down his shirt, brushing your fingers low enough to the front of his pants to hear his sharp intake of breath. 

You still haven’t had sex since the whole fiasco began, but neither of you are ready or willing to bring it up. It’ll feel too much like a chore if you fucked now. 

You consider just dropping to your knees and getting it over with, but you highly doubt that would be enjoyable for either of you. So, you forget the thought and let him drag you to Rossi’s, leading you into the warm house with a hand on your lower back. 

JJ hugs you both when she sees you, telling you that you look beautiful. You say the same to her, and it’s true. It always is. 

“How’re Pretty Boy and his sugar doing?” Derek asks, coming up behind you and twirling you into a one-armed hug. 

“His sugar is doing good,” you reply, leaning into Derek. “I’ll let Pretty Boy answer for himself.”

Spencer shrugs, taking your arm and pulling you back towards him. He has an arm around your middle, holding you to his side like he’s afraid you might bolt. “Never better.”

Penny bounds up beside Derek, clapping excitedly when she sees you all. 

“First order of business, you need a drink,” she decides. 

“As always, you’re correct,” you tell her. You squeeze Spencer’s arm, loosening yourself from his grip. “Want one, Spence?”

“No, thank you,” he says. 

Right, you’d forgotten he agreed to be the designated driver. Always responsible, your Spence was. 

Penny takes your hand, leading you away from Spencer and into Rossi’s kitchen. 

“So,” she says, her voice light. “How’s that fake relationship working out? Is it going to be fake for much longer?”

“Penny,” you murmur, looking around to ensure that it’s just the two of you. You know she sees the way you look at Spencer. She can tell when your heart aches for him. 

“C’mon, you can’t seriously go through all of this and not admit you have feelings for him.”

Penny is a sweet, good woman. She’s been there for you for as long as you can remember, but you still don’t want to talk about this with her. Not right now. There are just too many things better left unsaid. 

“Pen, it’s for the best if we just keep things casual for now.”

“It’s not,” she says fiercely. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I know you shove emotions deep deep down into a black hole of nothingness, but Spencer is different.”

“No, he’s not,” you disagree. “Spencer is... Well, he’s Spencer.”

“Yes! But that’s exactly who you want him to be!” Penny squeezes your arm fondly. “You have to let him in eventually. Let him love you. I see the way you look at each other.” 

You can’t do this, and you say as much.

“I can’t do this right now. You’ll have to excuse me.”

You leave the kitchen, slinking past the group in the dining room and heading out the front door, sitting down on Rossi’s porch step to breathe the cool air in. 

God, you need to get a fucking grip. You’re a fucking mess. Your breathing gets caught in the back of your throat and you choke back a sob. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to ruin your makeup. You wish them away, but a few betray you and slip out, streaking down your cheeks. 

The front door opens, and someone steps out. You don’t check who it is. You don’t want anyone to see you losing it like this. 

Someone sits beside you, arms sliding around your waist. Lips, soft and familiar, plant kisses in your hair. 

“Are you okay?”

No. You’re not, but you certainly feel better now that Spencer is here. You lean into his warmth, shielding yourself from the noise inside your head. 

“Penny thinks I should let my walls down,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” One of your hands comes up to grip at Spencer’s shirt. You bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Am I good enough for you?”

He inhales slowly, leaning away to tilt your chin up and wipe away the last few tears that adorn your face. “You are,” he responds after a few beats. “You always have been.”

You don’t know what this means. You don’t know if you’ve crossed a line. 

“You’re good, too,” you whisper. “You’re a good friend.”

Spencer chuckles quietly, but it sounds strange, like it’s not really humorous at all. “Are you ready to go back in now?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”

“Good.”

You go back to the others, hand-in-hand. Penny looks at you from across the room and mouths  _ I’m sorry. _ You flash her a smile. She has nothing to be sorry about. 

It’s not her fault you’re such a mess.


	10. honeymooning no longer

You post a picture from the dinner party. 

It’s of you and Spencer, of course. You’re both standing in front of Rossi’s fireplace. You have your arms slung around him, kissing his cheek. His eyes are closed as he smiles - it’s one of those smiles where part of his tongue sticks out. One of his hands is slung low around your waist while the other is coming up to grasp at your arm. Emily had taken the picture as the rest of the team cooed behind her. 

Anastasia is thrilled when she sees it.

_ You two look great. Keep doing what you’re doing,  _ she texts. It might actually be the nicest thing she’s ever said to you. 

She’s not wrong, though. You do look great together. You look natural, totally and utterly in love with each other. It’s a stunning feat, considering none of it is real.  __

The picture makes a few headlines, and then dies down after that. 

You don’t see Spencer in person for a while, their current case is taking longer than expected, but you make up for lost time talking on the phone with him. 

Once the reporters realize Spencer isn’t hanging around, their attention starts to wane. A few stay behind, staking their spot, but for the most part, you no longer have to worry about being bombarded as you come and go. It’s not like you’re doing anything interesting or out of the ordinary. The only thing they could report on is your shockingly bad choice in nail polish.

Everything’s become almost painfully domestic, and excruciatingly quiet.  _ Maybe _ , your mind whispers,  _ just maybe you won’t have to put on this front for much longer.  _

Although you try to deny it, the thought sends a pang of pain through your heart. You like dating Spencer, even if it’s just a fake relationship. Things are sweet and simple. When he’s here, you spend your nights rewatching  _ Sherlock, _ or cooking dinner, or staying up late to watch Spencer perform a science trick using ingredients found in your kitchen. It’s nice being around him. He makes you feel less like a shell, and more like a whole person. 

He’s started leaving more of his things in your space. He keeps an extra go-bag with him at all times now. You find more of his shirts in the laundry, and start noticing some of his mugs making an appearance in your dish-washer. You both manage to fill the apartment quite well, almost making it feel like a home. 

But you’re still not fucking.

You try to remember the last time anything happened. A month ago? Maybe two? Things got blurry before the time of the leak. Everything sort of blended together, making it hard to tell one event from another. It’s not that you don’t miss it, because you do, it’s just that you’re afraid of pressuring Spencer into something he doesn’t want, or he’s not ready for. But, after he returns home from the latest case, you think he feels the pull, too. His eyes linger hungrily on your legs as you rub lotion into them after a shower. He stares at the swell of your breasts for just a beat too long as you’re leaning across the table to grab the salt shaker. His hands come up around you, possessively, as you curl into him before giving into sleep. 

You’re standing at the kitchen sink, washing the last few dishes that didn’t fit in the dish-washer after you’d let the pile grow for a few days when Spencer comes up behind you, lithe fingers wrapping around your hips. You’re so surprised, you almost drop the fork you’re scrubbing.

“What are you doing?” You ask, voice hushed.

“You look beautiful,” is all he says, his voice a deep, quiet rumble that you can feel with your back pressed against his chest. 

The kitchen is suddenly sweltering with tension. The pit of your stomach is tight. You can feel the wetness between your legs begin to grow.

You place the fork back in the sink as Spencer turns you around to place hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck. He kisses along your cheekbone, your jaw, your collarbone, tugging on the hem of your shirt to prompt you to raise your arms so he can take it off. In turn, you push yourself against his crotch, hearing him moan as you feel his growing erection between you. 

Your face is probably red, hair sticking to your now-sweaty forehead, but you can’t find it in you to care. 

“Missed this,” you sigh, reaching up to start undoing his shirt buttons. “Missed you.”

He lets you push his shirt off his shoulders before taking a step back.

“This is so wrong,” Spencer gasps. 

“But so right,” you insist, running your hands down his stomach, feeling the familiar taut muscles. You sink to your knees in front of him, hooking your fingers in his belt loops to pull his pants down, but his hands fall over yours to stop you. 

It feels weird all of a sudden. Tense, and not in a good way.

You get to your feet as Spencer holds onto your hands, entwining your fingers with his. “Not tonight,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “It’s not right.”

You feel wounded. Kind of hurt. It’s like he doesn’t want you anymore. He has no use for you.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

You take your hands back from him, crossing your arms tightly in front of your chest. You feel bare and exposed. It’s embarrassing. 

“Okay.”

Spencer sighs, pushing a hand through his hair. “Okay.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice comes out tiny and weak, betraying the sadness you’re trying to hide. “Why don’t you touch me anymore? Do you not like me like that?”

The silence is stifling between the two of you. You feel like a stupid little girl standing in front of her crush, asking if he’ll go to the school dance with her.

“I don’t owe you an explanation for why I don’t want to fuck you,” Spencer snaps. 

Oh. Wow, that’s… okay. So it’s going to be like that.

You look down at your feet as the first tear falls. “You’re right. You don’t.”

“I’m just tired,” he mutters, his voice wavering. “I want to sleep.”

“Okay.”

You step around Spencer, careful not to touch him, then turn back to face him.

“I’ll find some clean sheets. You can make a bed on the couch.”

You’re glad none of the reporters can see into your apartment. You and Spencer aren’t so picture-perfect anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi, haha


End file.
